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The Husband
“So, there’s nothing one could do to change the present?”
Monji Kadokura inquisitively tilted his head of gray-speckled hair, dislodging a cherry-blossom petal that fluttered to the ground. Under the dim sepia light of the shaded lamps—the café’s only illumination—he was squinting so closely at the jottings in his notebook that his face was almost pressed against the page.
“What does that mean, specifically?”
“Well, maybe I could explain it like this...”
Replying to Kadokura’s question, with long narrow eyes, was Nagare Tokita, a huge man more than six and a half feet tall. He was the owner of the café and always wore a white cook’s uniform.
“Take this cash register, for example. You’d be hard-pressed to find one in Japan that is older. I’ve been told it’s very rare. By the way, even empty, it weighs about ninety pounds to stop people stealing it. Anyway, let’s say that one day, this cash register was stolen.”
Nagare slapped his hand on the cash register on the counter.
“If that happened, then naturally you would want to return to the past and hide it away somewhere or get someone to stand guard to stop anyone from entering the café to steal it, right?”
“Sure, that makes sense.” Kadokura nodded in agreement.
“But you see, that can’t happen. No matter how hard you tried to prevent the cash register from getting stolen, the thief would still make their way into the café and steal the cash register, even if it was well hidden.”
“Gosh, that is so fascinating. What could be the science behind that? I would be interested to know the causal relationship—if you know what I mean. A kind of butterfly effect, perhaps?” Kadokura looked up at Nagare with excited eyes.
“Butterfly effect?”
Now it was Nagare’s turn to tilt his head, in confusion.
“It’s a theory that the meteorologist Edward Lorenz proposed at a lecture given at the American Association for the Advancement of Science in 1972. There is a Japanese saying along the same lines. If the wind blows, the barrel-makers prosper.”
“Oh, er, OK.”
“But then, this idea of the present not changing–that’s not an effect. More like a correction, don’t you think? If so, that would rule out the butterfly effect. This is getting more and more fascinating,” he mumbled enthusiastically as he wrote something down in his notebook.
“Well, truth be told, the only explanation we have ever been given is, because that’s the rule, isn’t that right, Kazu?” Nagare looked to Kazu Tokita, standing next to him, for agreement.
“Yes, that’s right,” Kazu replied without bothering to look up.
Kazu was Nagare’s cousin and a waitress at the café. She wore a white shirt, black waistcoat, and sommelier’s apron. She was pretty with fair complexion and long, narrow almond-shaped eyes, but not one other feature stood out. If you glanced at her and closed your eyes, you’d find it difficult to describe her face. Even Kadokura had to follow Nagare’s gaze to be reminded that there was one more person here. She cast a faint shadow, and her presence lacked impact.
Her expression remained neutral as she polished a glass.
Fumiko Kiyokawa cut into the conversation. “So anyway, Professor Kadokura, who did you come to the café to meet?”
“Please drop the professor, Ms. Kiyokawa. I’m out of academia now.” He smiled awkwardly and scratched his head.
Fumiko had already experienced a return to the past in the café: she went to meet a lover from whom she had parted ways. Now she was a regular and visited the café almost daily after work.
“Oh, do you two know each other?” Nagare asked.
“Professor Kadokura taught my archaeology class at university. But he’s not just an archaeology professor. He has traveled around the world as an adventurer. As a result, his classes covered so much! I found them to be of great value,” Fumiko replied.
“You might be the only one who would say that. And I must say, you were an excellent student, always top of the class.”
“Don’t talk me up so much... I simply didn’t like losing to anyone.” Fumiko waved
her hand modestly.
Notwithstanding how true that statement was, while still in high school Fumiko had mastered six languages through self-study, and she had graduated as the top student at her university. Her brilliance remained in Kadokura’s memory even though he was no longer teaching. It simply wasn’t true that she just hated losing.
“Professor, you never answered.”
“Oh yes, of course, you want to hear my story, right? Well actually...” Kadokura turned his gaze away from Fumiko sitting next to him at the counter, and stared at his clasped hands. “I want to see my wife... just to talk with her one more time,” he said in a small voice.
“With your wife? Oh, don’t tell me she’s...” Fumiko didn’t need to finish the question. Her alarm told Kadokura what she meant.
“Oh, no, she’s still alive.”
Kadokura’s reply had softened Fumiko’s expression. But his face stayed grim.
Sensing something was amiss, Fumiko and Nagare waited with bated breath for his next words.
“She’s alive, but she suffered brain damage in an accident, which left her in a vegetative state. It’s been nearly two and a half years. Patients in a vegetative state normally survive three to five years at the most. I’ve been told that she is likely to die soon, considering her age.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Then perhaps you were hoping to return to the past to prevent your wife’s accident? If that was your plan, I’m sorry, but as I explained before...”
Shaking his head a little, he replied, “No, I understand. I admit to a little wishful thinking, but now, to tell you the truth...” He scratched above his eyebrow. “You’ve really piqued my interest,” he said and laughed nervously.
“What do you mean?” Fumiko asked, puzzled.
“I mean, the idea of not being able to change the present even though you can return to the past—how intriguing is that?”
His eyes shone like a child’s, then darkened in an instant. “That must have sounded rather inappropriate when my wife is in a vegetative state.”
“Oh, not at all.” Fumiko’s attempt at a smile came off awkwardly. In truth, she had indeed thought, How inappropriate.
“That side of my personality caused my wife much distress. I’ve been in love with archaeology since my youth and I’ve lived a life focused on my interests alone. I trotted the globe as an adventurer and I did not return home for months on end. My wife never voiced any complaints about how I was. She tended to our home and raised our children. Then they left the nest, one by one, and before we knew it, it was just the two of us. Yet I continued to leave my wife alone and travel around the world. But waiting for me when I returned home one day was my wife—in a vegetative state.”
Kadokura took a small photo from his notebook. It showed a young couple. Nagare and Fumiko could see immediately they were Kadokura and his wife. After a longer look, it became plain that a large pendulum wall clock, looking just like one of the three in this café, was in the background.
“This photo was taken of us in this café, I want to say twenty-four, maybe twenty-five years ago. You’ve heard of an instant camera, right?”
“You mean an instax?” asked Fumiko in reply.
“Some people today call them that, yes. Cameras that could take photos and then allow you to print them on the spot were a hit back in the day. The lady in charge of the café back then had one. She took this photo for us, saying we should have a memento.”
“That was my mother. Mum loved having the latest in trendy gadgets. I imagine she said it was a memento, but I bet she just wanted to show it off,” said Nagare dismissively with a wry smile.
“My wife told me to carry this always. She said it was an amulet to protect me. Of course, there is no scientific basis for a photo to become a lucky charm,” said Kadokura as he waved the photo around.
“You want to go back to the day that photo was taken?”
“No. I haven’t visited this café since that day, but I think my wife came here every now and then to meet our children. If I return, I would like to go back about two or three years before she fell into her vegetative state.”
“OK then,” Nagare replied, and momentarily glanced over to the woman in the white dress with long black hair and pale skin that appeared almost translucent, sitting in the furthest corner of the café. She was silently reading a book.
“Do you have any other questions?”
“Let’s see.” Kadokura put the photo back into his notebook and opened the page on which he had just jotted down the rules. Once again he brought his face close to the page as he peered at it.
“I think this is related to the rule that the present won’t change, which we just discussed, but...”
“What is it?”
“How do words conveyed from someone from the future remain in the memories of the people they visit?”
“Eh? Well, that’s, er...” Nagare could not grasp what Kadokura was asking. He knitted his brows and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Sorry, I’m not explaining this very well.” Kadokura scratched his forehead.
“I understand that there is some kind of force, which you call a rule, ...
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